


wolf in lark's clothing

by valiantlybold



Series: wolf in lark's clothing [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beating, Begging, Breathplay, Choking, Cock Warming, Come Eating, Daddy Kink, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Finger Sucking, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Kept Boys, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Mob Boss Jaskier, Multiple Orgasms, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Polyamorous relationship, Polyamory, Praise Kink, Relationship Negotiation, Rimming, Teasing, Thighs, Torture, becoming jaskier/geralt/eskel/lambert, everyone is insecure because Thats Life, jaskier/eskel/lambert, kept boy eskel, kept boy geralt, kept boy lambert, standard mob stuff, violence kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22819882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiantlybold/pseuds/valiantlybold
Summary: Jaskier has two kept boys, and wants to add a third.Geralt isn't sure he wants to be added.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: wolf in lark's clothing [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640455
Comments: 26
Kudos: 560





	wolf in lark's clothing

**Author's Note:**

> blame the discord
> 
> love to the filth fam tho  
> mom provides that good, good food<3

“Hey, Geralt, get in here.”

Geralt nods raptly and follows Eskel. He’s known Eskel since they were in diapers, and they’ve worked in this business for a good while now; somehow, though, Eskel rose close to the top, while Geralt stayed low in the pecking order.

That’s okay with Geralt, though. He likes his job. He doesn’t really have to do much; stand around and look mean (an easy feat for him), and maybe beat some people up now and then (which is a great way to work out his aggression in a moderately healthy way. Well, healthy for _him,_ anyway).

But he’s never been called on like this.

Eskel calling him at two AM, telling him to get his ass in gear, the boss needs him.

The boss says _jump,_ Geralt asks _how high_ and rolls his ass out of bed and gets in his car.

He follows Eskel into the warehouse, from where he’s been waiting outside. The place is dark and empty, only lit by one spotlight which shines down at the middle of the floor. There, under the light, a man sits tied to a chair.

“What am I needed for?” Geralt asks lowly.

“Boss has his eye on you,” Eskel tells him. “Wants to see you work.”

“Hm.”

“Rough and tough, like back on Rivia Street.”

“More bark than bite, then.”

Geralt removes his jacket, offering it to Eskel, who seems happy enough to take it.

Geralt knows this game. Dole out some bruises, cause some pain, spill some blood; that’s usually all it takes to get these idiots talking.

Rolls up his sleeves and ties back his hair.

He gets to work.

*

When he’s done, his knuckles ache, there’s blood spattered on his face, and the ever-present tension in his shoulders is almost completely gone.

He only stops because Eskel tells him to.

Geralt steps back as the guy in the chair gurgles and coughs up some more blood.

"What is it?" Geralt asks.

“Boss wants a look,” is all Eskel tells him.

As if on cue, the door is thrown open, the same door Geralt had been lead in through, and someone steps inside. They’re out of the light, Geralt can’t make out much more than the shapes of two distinct people.

Soon enough, they come into view, though.

Geralt recognizes Lambert; he doesn’t know him too well but they’ve worked together a few times, he’s a decent guy.

The other person, though, must be the boss. For all the renown the guy has, Geralt’s never even seen his face or heard his name.

This really isn’t what Geralt was expecting, to be honest.

The guy is hardly more than a kid, can’t be out of his twenties yet! He’s dressed up in a pastel pink three-piece suit, a dark purple shirt, and a baby blue bow tie. His hands are covered rings and bracelets, his nails are painted in all sorts of glittery colors. His face is contorted in a huge smile, bright blue eyes shining.

 _“Hello, sweeties!”_ the man shouts, arms open as though to embrace the world, coming to join Eskel and Geralt stand by the chair. “You’re Eskel’s friend? Oh, and you’re just as handsome as he said! Good to know he doesn’t lie to me.”

Eskel chuckles. “You know I’d never lie to you, darling.”

_Darling?_

Geralt is confused about what is happening here. He gets more confused when _the boss_ drapes himself over Eskel, kissing him deeply. And Eskel just lets it happen? Then Lambert joins them just as the boss parts from Eskel, he drapes himself over Lambert instead, kissing him too.

Geralt is very confused.

“Go on, Lam,” the boss says, between kisses. “Give it to him.”

Even while kissing this…this _twink,_ Lambert reaches in under his own jacket, pulling a knife out of the sheath strapped to the back of his belt. He offers it blindly towards Geralt.

Geralt takes it.

That makes the twink drag himself out of the kiss, giggling when Lambert’s mouth instead strays down his neck.

“Kill him,” he orders, soft eyes going sharp as they meet Geralt’s. “Will you do that for me, Geralt? Will be a good boy and kill him for me?”

Geralt swallows. He grips the knife tightly.

Something in those eyes tells him that he doesn’t have a say in the matter.

But then again, he couldn’t give less of a shit.

He turns around and slits the guys throat with one decisive slash. The guy fights against his restraints, eyes wide as he stares up at Geralt, blood gushing out of the massive cut made in his neck.

It makes the twink laugh, and his laugh is like _music,_ all melodic and harmonious.

When Geralt turns back around, the twink is trapped between Eskel and Lambert, their mouths and hands all over him; but the twink is watching Geralt, watching what Geralt just did, watching Geralt watch them.

“That’s a good boy,” he purrs.

He lets out a breathy moan as Eskel’s hands stray low on his front, likely groping at his crotch.

“Get off me.”

Eskel and Lambert step back without hesitation, without questioning the order for even a moment.

The twink looks _debauched_ as hell.

He’s a pretty thing, Geralt has to admit.

The twink saunters towards him, moves like he’s walking on air, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

When he comes close, he smells like wildflowers and vanilla. Geralt wonders what he tastes like.

His hands are surprisingly large; Geralt notices this, when they come to rest on either his shoulders. They squeeze and feel and _grope_ at just his shoulders, eyes meandering all over Geralt’s face as if to learn his face by heart.

“Eskel speaks _very_ highly of you,” he says, his voice like _sex_ itself. “He says you can _always_ be trusted. And that you’d do _anything_ for your friends. Is that right?”

“Hm.”

The twink moves closer, almost fully pressing himself against Geralt.

“So how about it, Geralt? Do you want to be my _friend?”_

*

“When it comes to the sex, you’re always free to say no. No matter what happens, no matter what he wants, you _can_ say no whenever you want. You can sit out, you can take a break, you can decide to just watch for a while, but no matter what, you’re free to speak up.”

This is still making Geralt’s head spin a little, even as he drives away from the warehouse with Eskel.

“But when it comes to how he runs the business… You’ve got no say. None of us do. Because _trust me,_ he doesn’t need it. Whatever you think you’ve got to tell him, he’s already thought of it and of how to handle it. He’s a fuckin’ brilliant bastard, and he’s short of patience, so unless he _asks_ for your opinion, keep your mouth shut.”

“Hm.”

This is…

Geralt isn’t sure he fully _understands_ this whole thing but…

 _Jaskier_ is a toy he wants a chance to play with.

Eskel’s directions take them uptown and into the garage under one of the fanciest buildings there. Then, they take the elevator to the penthouse.

Geralt knew the business was profitable but this is beyond his expectations.

Eskel leads him deep into the expansive apartment, to a vast dining room.

Jaskier sits at the head of the long table, and Lambert sits to his left. They look at each other with something _hot_ in their eyes; it almost feels like they’re intruding on something, by entering the room.

“There you are, finally!” Jaskier says as they enter, though, looking away from Lambert, then pats the chair on his right. “Come! Have a seat, Geralt, please! What do you want for breakfast? Pancakes? Scrambled eggs? Anything at all!”

Geralt sits down, and Eskel sits next to him.

“I’m not hungry,” he says.

Jaskier lets out another laugh. He sits like his chair is a throne. He’s removed his jacket and unbuttoned his vest, sleeves rolled up and bow-tie undone.

He looks no less flamboyantly vicious.

One part of Geralt wants to snap this brat in half over his knee. Another part wants to fuck him to pieces and make him beg for more.

But most of him wants to go back to bed because its four AM now and Geralt is _tired._

“Don’t be silly, Geralt! Please, you’re a guest in my home! That means, I _have to_ feed you!” Jaskier insists, his hand gestures grandiose and his rings glittering. “If I don’t, the ghost of my dear mother, _bless her soul,_ will haunt me ‘til the day I die for forgetting my manners.”

“Hm. Fine. Black coffee. Scrambled eggs.”

“Perfect! Lambert, dear, run and tell the cook, will you?”

He talks to Lambert like he’s a child, and Lambert... _isn’t upset?_ He actually smiles? And jumps to his feet and hurries out of the dining room like it’s his only purpose in life to do what he’s told.

The vibes get weirder and weirder, and Geralt isn’t sure what to make of all this.

 _“So!”_ Jaskier says then, turning to Geralt again, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. “Geralt of Rivia Street. I’ve heard _so much_ about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, at long last! And I must say, from what I saw just a little while ago, you do _excellent_ work.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier doesn’t complain about his lack of words. “You’ve worked for me just as long as Eskel has, I’ve heard. How come you haven’t… _advanced?_ In the ranks, I mean.”

Geralt shrugs. “Don’t want to. I’m fine where I am.”

“So you lack ambition, is that it?”

Jaskier’s tongue is as sharp as a knife. His eyes too. He looks at Geralt as though he wants to stare _through_ him.

“If that’s what you want to call it.”

“And what would _you_ call it?”

_“Not being greedy.”_

The boss hums. He grins like a wild animal. “Oh, I _like_ you.”

Lambert returns, and he is followed by two women carrying trays. Lambert sits down, while the women deal out plates and mugs and cutlery. Jaskier looks like a giddy little kid when they place a stack of pancakes dripping in syrup and a milkshake in front of him. He says something softly to the women, who smile and thank him then hurry out of the room again to leave them to their meal.

Geralt sips his coffee and pokes at his scrambled eggs. He still isn’t hungry.

He knows _the offer_ is coming; Eskel prepared him for it in the car, explained things briefly (not that Geralt could fucking understand any of it, despite the explanation), so he knows it’s just a matter of time before it comes.

Still, that doesn’t actually prepare him for hearing the offer.

“So how about it, love?” Jaskier says plainly, between sips at his milkshake through the swirly straw. “Care to be one of my boys?”

Geralt manages not to choke. “Is that what we are, then?” he asks instead. “Your… _kept boys?”_

Jaskier doesn’t mind the question. He sips his milkshake again. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“And what would _you_ call it?” Geralt mirrors and counters, all at once.

“Personal security. Bed warmers. Playthings. I could go on, if you want?”

“Hm.” Geralt sips his coffee. “And _why_ should I say yes, when I’m perfectly fine with the job I already have?”

“Because I'm asking nicely. I'll even say _please,_ if that's what you want to hear.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Geralt stands up.

“I’m sorry to say, but I need an answer now,” Jaskier tells him, not at all apologetic.

But Geralt knows what kind of game this is.

“I said I’ll think about it,” he repeats, then heads for the door. “Thanks for the eggs. My compliments to the chef.”

He leaves, and his plate is left untouched.

*

“You do realize he doesn’t like being told _no?”_

“Hm. All the more reason to tell him no.”

It makes Eskel chuckle.

It’s been two days. Geralt hasn’t heard anything directly from Jaskier, but he can guess that Eskel is here to do his bidding.

They sit on Geralt’s couch, feet up on the coffee table, not watching the rugby game playing on the TV.

“What’s the big deal?” Eskel questions. “You get spoiled rotten _and_ a good pair’a steady fucks, and you don’t have to do anythin’ for it! Stand ‘round and look mean every now and then, but that’s basically already your job description, so I don’t get it, Geralt. Why’re you so up in it about this thing?”

Geralt drinks deep from his bottle of beer. “I don’t like the idea of _being owned.”_

That makes Eskel chuckle again. Geralt really doesn’t understand what’s so funny about all of this.

“Trust me, it’s not half bad,” Eskel tells him then, and sips his own bottle. “Last month, I mentioned that my car was givin’ me trouble and that I was lookin’ for an auto-shop to take a look at it. Guess what he did?”

“Hm. Guessing he didn’t just give you the number of an auto-shop?”

_“He bought me a new car.”_

Geralt turns his head, raising his brows at his old friend.

“And not a cheap one, either. This _sexy_ black Camaro, all leather interior, and _then_ he let me fuck him in the backseat.”

“Hm.”

“I know.”

They sip their beers.

“C’mon, just give it a chance, yeah?” Eskel pesters on. “Can always back out whenever you feel like it. He’s a great many things, but he’s not _that kind_ of bastard. You say you want out, and you’re out. That’s all there’s to it.”

Geralt sighs. “Fine. I’ll… I’ll think about it. For real.”

Eskel gets up quickly. “Good!” he says as he walks swiftly over to the front-door, and starts rifling through the pockets of the jacket he had hung aside there. “This is for you.”

He returns shortly and hands a few papers to Geralt, which have been folded in half lengthwise and likely carried in Eskel’s inside pocket. Geralt unfolds the papers and skims through the first page.

What the hell?

“What is all this?”

“Nothin’ legally bindin’, if that’s what you’re thinkin’,” Eskel promises. “It’s just an explanation of what’s expected of you, what you can expect from him, a list of his kinks, a checklist of kinks for you to fill in and give to him, safeword information and shit like that. Just to get everyone on the same level, y’know?”

Geralt stares at Eskel.

“Anyway, I gotta go, Jaskier’s got a meetin’ and he likes to get stuffed before ‘em so I need to meet with him and Lambert early.”

And with that, Eskel chugs the rest of his beer, sets the bottle on the coffee table, and leaves in a hurry.

Geralt sighs. This is…a strange situation. He’s not sure what his answer to this _offer_ will be, but he figures he should read through these papers at least and get himself a decent idea of what he’s getting himself into if he says yes.

Geralt puts on his glasses and clicks his pen. He’s certainly in for an interesting read, he can gather that much already.

*

Lambert leads him through the penthouse.

Jaskier’s office is about as huge as every other room in that damn place. His desk is huge too, and Geralt isn’t sure what someone does with a desk that _unnecessarily_ big. There’s a drum-kit in one corner, a piano next to it, and several guitars mounted along the wall. The opposite side is set up like an artist’s studio, with an easel and canvases and a paint-splattered sheet spread out to protect the hardwood floors.

Eskel sits behind the desk, and Jaskier sits in his lap. While Jaskier works at his laptop, Eskel's pets his flank absently and fiddles with his phone. Today Jaskiers wears a baby blue three-piece, with a purple shirt and a yellow bow-tie, though his jacket hangs over the back of the deskchair.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says as he looks up from the laptop. “Glad you came. Thank you, Lambert.”

Geralt sits down in front of the desk. Lambert rounds the desk and stands next to Jaskier’s chair, like a guardian.

 _“So!_ Eskel told me he gave you the papers!” Jaskier continues. “I hope you had a chance to look through them.”

“Hm.”

Geralt retrieves the papers from the inside pocket of his jacket. He’s marked a few things for discussion. He puts on his glasses.

“I’m supposed to live _here?”_ he questions without delay. “In the penthouse?”

Jaskier shuts his laptop, leaning back against Eskel’s chest. Eskel noses against his neck, arms wrapping loosely around Jaskier’s waist.

“Yes. You’ll have a room of your own, with an en-suite bathroom of course, and you’re free to decorate and furnish as you please,” Jaskier elaborates for him. “You’re of course free to sleep in your own room whenever you please, but I do like to have all my boys in my bed whenever possible.”

“Hm.”

Geralt marks the point off, and moves on.

“Regular STD screenings?”

“Yes. Since you’re free to fuck other people at your discretion, regular screenings are a must. I’ll refer you to my personal doctor and cover all the costs, of course. Screenings will take place once per month, and should any results come back positive, I will also cover any necessary medications. If we have sexual contact in the month after the positive result, we will of course use protection. If you entertain other parties, I expect you to take the necessary precautions with both them and myself.”

Geralt nods. Logical and reasonable, with the health of all parties as the main concern.

_“Weekly allowance?”_

“I’ll provide housing and put food on the table, of course, but I can’t let my favorite boys go without pocket money.”

While Geralt doesn’t particularly like the idea of this whole _thing,_ he has to admit it is…tempting. Who _wouldn’t_ be tempted by something like this?

Geralt finds the checklist and hands it over. Jaskier takes it eagerly, reading quickly.

“Oh, we’re gonna have _lots_ of fun together, Geralt,” he says with a toothy grin once he puts down the list. “Assuming that this is you accepting my offer?”

Geralt takes a deep breath. “It is.”

Jaskier smiles wider, clapping his hands together in excitement. “Lovely! You’ll need to go see the doctor before anything physical happens,” he says, pulling a business card from the top drawer on his left and sliding it across the desk towards Geralt. “I’ll arrange for some movers to help you with your apartment, Eskel will show you your room, and if your landlord gives you grief over the lease or something, let me know and I’ll call my lawyers.” He snaps his fingers at the other men. “Eskel, Lambert, _switch.”_

Eskel sets his phone down on the desk. He pushes the chair back and takes hold of Jaskier’s hips; together, they stand up. Geralt notices now, that Jaskier’s slacks have been pulled down below his ass and Eskel’s jeans hang open. Jaskier leans over the desk. He moans, biting his lip, as Eskel removes his cock from inside him. Eskel puts himself away, stepping aside. Lambert takes his place, undoing his own jeans. Jaskier moans again, Lambert filling him back up. Together, they sit down and get back in place by the desk.

Jaskier opens his laptop and gets back to work like Geralt didn’t just have his world tilted half on its head.

Geralt gets up and follows Eskel out of the office.

*

It’s a busy three days.

Geralt goes to the doctor, then becomes very busy with packing up his apartment and negotiating with his landlord; he also decides against using the movers for anything other than getting the furniture to the nearby goodwill. He doesn’t trust _anyone_ with his personal things.

But finally, he gets settled into his new accommodations and tries to get used to the idea of having several maids and a private chef. He also tries to get used to general idea of this whole _situation,_ but that’s a big ask, so he decides to stop trying.

It’s... _surprisingly normal?_ Now and then, at least.

They eat breakfast together; Lambert, Eskel, and Jaskier all chat on, casual as could be, while Geralt sits rather quiet.

Jaskier calls them all a multitude of pet names, and he’s _touchy;_ he pets and caresses and kisses and hugs and cuddles against Eskel and Lambert. Thankfully, he is giving Geralt a wider berth for the moment.

A varying number of them trail after Jaskier as he goes about managing his enterprise, standing around and looking mean, letting Jaskier drape himself over them as he pleases.

After a long day, they all sit on the massive couch in the living room, and Jaskier is spread out across them like _they_ were the couch. He sits down in Lambert’s lap then lays himself down, his head on Eskel’s thigh and feet up in Geralt’s lap.

It’s... _normal._ Casually affectionate. Like any other romantically inclined relationship. And rather surprisingly, Geralt can see it in Jaskier’s eyes when he looks at any one of them, that his affection for them is _real._ Even for _Geralt._

He didn’t expect the affection to be real. He thought this was all just…some kind of _game_ to Jaskier. That he was just doing this to feel the power of putting a leash on each of them. But that doesn’t seem to be it.

Geralt realizes, as he lays alone in his bed, in his own room, far away from where he knows Jaskier lies tangled up in bed with Eskel and Lambert, that Jaskier is _lonely._

Why else would he do this? Drawing them all in with the promise of money and sex and so on, if he _wasn’t_ lonely? If he wasn’t _scared_ of being lonely? If he wasn’t so _desperate_ to _not be lonely_ that he would pay them to spend time with him, to act as though they adore him, to worship the ground he walks on and thank him for the honor of doing so?

He can’t say he blames the guy. Lonely people do whatever they can to stop being lonely, he supposes.

It seems as though maybe it started out as him paying for their company, but... By now, both Lambert and Eskel seem to feel just as much affection for Jaskier as he feels for them. It might have started _that way,_ but it’s very clearly developed into something proper, something real and meaningful.

Geralt almost feels wrong for entering the fray; like he’s intruding on something he has no place taking part in.

But the way Jaskier smiles and touches him tentatively, cautious not to overstep the allowance he’s earned so far, and the way Eskel and Lambert welcome him into the group... It feels _less_ wrong.

Geralt finds himself curious to see how he develops in this thing. If things become real for him too, somehow.

*

Geralt’s never been comfortable in a suit, but Jaskier insists the restaurant they are going to requires a suit. Geralt gives in, and goes to the tailor with the boys. Thankfully, the tailor understands his plight and does his work as quickly as he can.

Four days later, a whole wardrobe of suits is delivered to the penthouse and Geralt doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with all of them.

He picks one out for the evening, the restaurant dress code looming over him, and decides he’s resilient enough to be able to endure one night in a suit. He’ll have to bring it up to Jaskier, though, and request that they _not_ go to places with such strict dress codes in the future. He’s rather certain Jaskier would even heed the request.

Geralt and Eskel drive to the restaurant. When they get there, Lambert awaits them just inside the door. He informs them raptly that Jaskier is _not_ in a good mood, thanks to some unfortunate business they had had to handle earlier in the day. They should endeavour to cheer him up, lest they find themselves really being in for it tonight. Oh, yes, Geralt, you should know, he often likes to do heavier scenes after having a bad day; working out his tension, as it were.

Geralt decides that it is time to get involved in the sexual side of this relationship.

Lambert leads them through the restaurant. The place is _empty._ Why is it empty? It looks like the kind of place that would be packed full every night, and have a waiting list of at least a few months, so why was it empty?

As if reading his mind, Eskel informs him. “He’s rented the whole place out,” he says. “He does that, now and then. Likes to have his dinner in peace.”

And not only is the restaurant devoid of _people,_ but all the tables and chairs have been taken away as well. They have been moved aside, stacked up against the walls, to leave the floor open. Then, in the center of the space, they have left one small table and four chairs placed around it. It’s covered by a silky white tablecloth; there are roses to decorate the setting, as well as a handful of candles.

Jaskier sits at the table, waiting for them, sipping a glass of wine. The suit he wears is, in Geralt’s opinion, _a garish eye-sore._ He doesn’t know what else to call a yellow-and-orange plaid patterned suit.

Geralt grabs the chair on Jaskier’s right and moves it closer to the man, then sits down. He takes hold of his equally garish tie, pulling him in. It’s a slightly awkward kiss at first, given how shocked Jaskier is by it, but he quickly melts into it, against Geralt, letting out a pleased little sound against Geralt’s lips. He seems stunned, breathless, as Geralt pulls back. When he opens his eyes, they’re glazed over, he’s stuck in an awed daze.

Still, he lets out a breathy gasp, when Geralt reaches down and rests his left hand over Jaskier’s crotch. He feels Jaskier’s cock twitch under his hand, egged on by that kiss then teased further by this light touch.

“Geralt?” is all Jaskier manages to say about it, though, looking at the man with big eyes.

“Good boys gets treats,” Geralt says as Eskel and Lambert finally join them. “So why don’t you act like a good boy tonight, and you’ll get a treat once we get home?”

Jaskier whines, squirming in his seat. “What if I want my treat _now?”_

He gasps again, though, when Geralt _squeezes_ him. Hard enough to be on the verge of _pain,_ but not hard enough to slip over that threshold.

“I don’t care if you want your treat now. Behave, and you’ll get it _later._ Misbehave, though, and I’ll make sure you sorely wish you hadn’t.”

A waitress exits the kitchen, walking swiftly to the sole table. Geralt doesn’t move his hand even as they all browse through the menu, discussing briefly what looks good. Jaskier says nothing about the heavy hand on his cock, which is rapidly growing hard under the unrelenting touch, but seems pleased enough to just not be squeezed like that anymore. The waitress hurries back to the kitchen with their orders, her cheeks tinted pink with a blush. She has no doubt seen exactly where Geralt is keeping his hand.

Once the door has swung shut behind her, Geralt gets to work again.

“Eskel,” he says plainly.

Eskel smirks and nods, waiting for Geralt to move so he can follow his lead. Geralt leans in towards Jaskier, replacing his left hand with his more dexterous right. He rubs slowly along the bulge in Jaskier’s ugly slacks, his mouth on the man’s neck. Eskel catches on, and leans in too. He mouths at the other side of Jaskier’s neck, hand slipping in under the man’s jacket to caress his chest.

Jaskier pants under them. Geralt feels fingers tangle in his hair.

Lambert, who sits opposite Jaskier, out of reach, simply leans back to enjoy the show.

Jaskier gasps, whines, squirming and writhing under their touch.

 _“Geralt,”_ he keens. “Geralt, _please,_ I’m gonna- I can’t- I’m gonna cum.”

He almost screams when Geralt squeezes him again. “Who said you were allowed to cum?”

There’s a tug on his hair and a needy whine. He hears Lambert chuckle.

Geralt nips at Jaskier’s earlobe; Jaskier shivers.

“Be a good boy, darling,” he says, his voice raspy in Jaskier’s ear. “Don’t cum. Be a good, lovely, sweet little boy and I’ll give you the best treat when we get home. I’ll take such good care of you, love. Make you feel so good. Just be good, baby, that’s it, that’s all I want.”

 _“Yes, yes, I’m a good boy,”_ Jaskier moans.

Geralt removes himself. Eskel follows his lead and does the same. They sit back in their chair, leaving Jaskier dazed and panting, suit a little rumpled.

Only minutes later, the waitress returns and delivers their meals.

They eat in a comfortable silence. Jaskier’s face is blushed red and he says nothing. Geralt waits for the opportune moment.

It comes, in the form of Jaskier raising his wineglass to his lips.

He reaches his hand over and rests it on the man’s bulge again; it’s softened somewhat, but still twitches at the slightest touch.

It surprises Jaskier. He jerks, wine sloshing out of the glass, a few drops hitting his face and running in red rivulets down his neck. His hand shakes as he lowers the glass.

Geralt tuts at him. “Messy boy,” he says lowly.

He leans in. He traces the red lines with his tongue, drinking up the spilled wine from Jaskier’s skin.

Jaskier whines again. It’s almost amazing how quickly he gets hard again, bulge filling out in Geralt’s palm.

As soon as he’s both cleaned up and hard again, Geralt withdraws.

They finish their food, and are shortly after served their dessert.

Geralt can feel Jaskier’s eyes on him as he eats his dessert. He makes sure to lick his lips, to suck on the spoon, to make appreciative noises at the taste. He can see the glaze falling over Jaskier’s eyes more and more the longer it goes on. Eskel and Lambert catch on; they start doing it too, sucking on their spoons and licking their lips and moaning at the taste.

Jaskier looks like he’s being tortured.

He squirms in his seat.

His cheeks grow redder.

Geralt sits in the backseat with Jaskier on the drive home. He doesn’t touch Jaskier at all during the ride, which seems to drive Jaskier even more crazy than _actually touching him_ would.

Jaskier seems to _vibrate_ as they take the elevator upstairs.

He keeps glancing at Geralt. He wrings his hands and bites his lip.

When the elevator stops and the doors open, Geralt takes Jaskier by the back of his neck. Jaskier gasps but goes lax, like a kitten being scruffed by its mother, and only follows where Geralt leads.

Jaskier doesn’t make a noise until he’s shoved at the massive bed in his bedroom. He yelps, stumbles, catches himself against the mattress.

Lambert shuts the door.

“Want our help, or should we settle in to watch?” he asks, then.

Geralt hums. He notes the two armchairs placed not far from the foot of the bed, obviously put there for only one reason.

“I think I can handle him,” he says.

Eskel and Lambert sit down in the armchairs. Eskel pours them each a glass of whiskey from the bottle that sits on the small side-table between the chairs.

Geralt undoes the buttons of his jacket and vest, shrugging out of both. They fall to the floor in a heap, which the tailor would be appalled at. He undoes his tie and drops it to the floor as well. He sets his tiepin and cuff-links on the nightstand. He rolls up his sleeves.

Jaskier stares with big eyes.

“So,” Geralt says. “Do you think you’ve been a good boy?”

Jaskier slides down the bed, sinking to his knees, he looks up at Geralt like he hung the moon.

“I’ve been good, I was so good,” he says, almost drooling. “I didn’t cum, just like you said. Didn’t even complain at all!”

“Hm. I guess you’re right on that,” Geralt says as he pulls the tie from his hair, letting it fall loose. “Tell me. You want to get fucked, don’t you, pretty boy?”

He crosses his arms tightly. Jaskier licks his lips. He claws at the floorboards, desperate to touch but knowing he hasn’t been given permission.

“Yes,” he whimpers.

“Convince me.”

Jaskier falls forward, bowing to Geralt.

 _“Please,”_ he says.

He shuffles forward. He kisses at Geralt’s boots, dragging his tongue over the hard leather. He kisses up Geralt’s legs, palming at him, mouthing, panting, kissing, worshiping.

“Please, please,” he keeps repeating. “Been good, I was so good, please.”

He noses at Geralt’s crotch, nudging at cock; his breath heats the soft fabric, the wetness of his tongue makes it grow damp, Geralt can feel every little twitch of his lips.

“I’m not convinced, pretty boy…”

Jaskier moans; he gropes at Geralt’s ass, pulling him closer, burying his face in Geralt’s loins, eyes rolling back in his head.

“God, please, _Daddy,”_ he whines against Geralt’s thigh. “Daddy, please, _please,_ lemme have it, lemme have my treat, you promised, Daddy.”

Geralt reaches down. He pets Jaskier’s soft hair; Jaskier stares up at him in awe, face still half buried in Geralt’s growing bulge.

“Well, you’ve convinced _me,_ at least,” he says.

That spills confusion into Jaskier’s bright eyes.

Geralt takes him by the hair, drags him away. Jaskier winces at the pain. He lets himself be dragged by the hair, though, lets himself be dragged away from the bed over closer to the armchairs. When Geralt stops, he has Jaskier looking straight at their audience.

“Has he earned it?” Geralt poses.

Jaskier whines as Eskel and Lambert hum. “Please,” he begs for the hundredth time.

“He _has_ been a good boy,” Eskel concedes.

Lambert nods. “He sure has. Behaved so well all night. I’ll say he’s earned it. Eskel?”

“I agree.”

Jaskier almost sobs at that, a loony grin filling his face as he is acknowledged.

“So how about it, darling?” Geralt says. He lets go of Jaskier’s hair, only petting him again instead. “One for me, one for Eskel, one for Lambert. Can you do that? Can you cum three times? One for each of us?”

Jaskier leans into Geralt’s touch, looking up at him with that same awe in his eyes. _“Yes, Daddy,_ I can do it, I’ll do it, _Daddy, for you,_ for all of you,” he rambles out.

He’s so eager to please. It’s _cute._

“Strip down. Leave the underwear on.”

Jaskier nods jerkily and starts working on his own suit. Geralt walks away. As expected, he finds an ample selection of different lubes lined up in the drawer of the nightstand. He selects a simple vanilla flavored variant. He sets it on the nightstand for later.

When he turns around, Jaskier sits nearly naked in a pool of his clothes. He fumbles with his bracelets, fingers shaking has he struggles to undo the clasps. His rings glitter.

“You can leave those on, dear, don’t mind them,” Geralt says.

Jaskier lets his hands fall lax in his lap, eyes refocusing on Geralt. He strains in his pastel green boxers. The silk has grown damp just where the head of his cock lays against his hip, precum leaking.

He seems to choke on his tongue when Geralt undoes his belt. He swallows tightly, eyes fixed on the leather as it slips loose from the slacks.

“Here,” Geralt says.

He points just in front of his own feet. Jaskier crawls on hands and knees, scrambling to obey. He clings to Geralt’s leg; he’s beautiful when he licks his lips. He looks like he’s _starving._

Geralt threads the belt through the buckle, making a loop. Jaskier whines, eyes going even wider, as the loop slips over his head to sit around his neck.

He whips his hand back; the belt snaps taut, the loop goes tight. Jaskier is pitched forward, falling against Geralt’s thigh.

“Sweet little thing,” he says, his voice low and dark.

Jaskier’s bites his lip again. It’s already going blush red, swelling ever so slightly.

“I’m a sweet thing, Daddy,” he agrees.

A smirk tugs at Geralt’s mouth. “You certainly are.”

He steps away from Jaskier and over to the bed, tugging the boy with him by the belt. He sits down on the bed. He makes sure his legs are aptly spread, then pats his right thigh.

“Come here,” he says. “Sit on Daddy’s lap.”

Jaskier is eager as hell to comply. He climbs into Geralt’s lap, straddling the offered thigh, holding on tight to the man’s wide shoulders.

“Go on, darling, show me what a greedy boy you are.”

Jaskier sucks in a sharp breath.

He grinds himself down against Geralt’s meaty thigh, rubbing himself off on it. He pitches a decent rhythm; quick and sloppy, _eager as hell._ His cheeks are redder than ever. His eyes are glazed and glittery. His breath smells like sugar and wine as he pants for air.

“Da- _ghk!”_

Jaskier chokes as his improvised collar snaps tight. His nails dig into Geralt’s shoulder, chest arching towards Geralt. The way his breath hitches is _perfect._ Geralt wants to choke a million of those sounds out of him. He wheezes as Geralt’s hand finds a good place to rest on his ass. He takes a good hold on that thing and it feels fucking amazing. Fuck, Geralt wants to rip that silk off of him, spread him open, feel him all over, feel how soft he is inside.

But they’ll get there. Soon enough, they’ll get there.

He lets the belt go lax again. Jaskier gasps, almost collapsing against Geralt, but his hips keep working. He keeps rutting and rubbing himself off, his breaths reedy.

“Daddy, _Daddy, please,”_ he begs into Geralt’s neck. “I’m gonna cum, _please say I can cum,_ a-and choke me when I do it, Daddy, _please.”_

Geralt hums. Jaskier quivers.

“Take a few breaths, baby,” he says softly, whispering. “Catch your breath.”

With how hard Jaskier clings to him, Geralt won’t be surprised if bruises start blooming along his shoulders.

“Let me look at you, baby,” he whispers. “Let me see that beautiful face.”

Jaskier leans back; his mouth hands open, his breath is so hot that it almost steams in the air. His eyes are almost permanently rolled back in his head. Fuck, he’s pretty. He looks like a work of art. Geralt wants to _rip him apart._ He’s beautiful, he’s stunning, Geralt can’t believe how fucking perfect he looks.

“Cum for Lambert, darling,” Geralt says. “And remember to be grateful.”

He glances to the side; Eskel grins, Lambert chuckles behind his glass of whiskey.

He gets the belt tight again. His tongue falls out, drool dripping, but he _smiles_ through it as he rides Geralt’s thigh. He wheezes and pants, body working like crazy, like he can’t stop himself.

“Tha- Than-” he tries, but the loss of breath makes it almost impossible.

He crumbles in on himself, quivering like a leaf in the wind in Geralt’s lap, the pastel silk of his boxers growing wet and dark as he releases.

Geralt lets the belt go, quickly getting it loose from around Jaskier’s neck, taking it off him, arms wrapping around him instead, holding him.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers gently. “You got it, darling, you did so good for Daddy.”

Jaskier shivers in his arms, but manages to lift his head. He breathes hard against Geralt’s neck.

“Tha-Thank you for this o-orgasm, Lambert,” he says softly.

Lambert chuckles again. “You earned it, love.”

Geralt hums. “But you made a mess, darling,” he says, tutting at Jaskier.

He whines, tries to burrow deeper into Geralt’s chest to hide from the mess he made.

“Messy little boy, aren’t you?” Geralt teases gently. “But Daddy doesn’t mind, darling. Not at all.”

Jaskier draws back just enough to be able to look up at Geralt, a plea in his eyes. “You don’t mind, Daddy? Didn’t mean to make a mess, I swear.”

Geralt pets his back. “I don’t mind,” he says. “As long as you clean up after yourself.”

Before Jaskier can question him, he slips his fingers under the hem of the man’s boxers into the mess, the cum slick on his skin. Jaskier shivers as rough fingertips brush his softening cock. Geralt withdraws his fingers again, now stained with cum.

Jaskier takes them greedily into his mouth.

“That’s a good boy…”

Jaskier moans around Geralt’s fingers. He sucks on them so eagerly, his tongue working tirelessly. God, Geralt can’t believe what a perfect little mouth that is, so soft and wet, he can’t imagine how it might feel when it’s wrapped around his cock, how that slender throat might feel when it’s choking on him.

And its obviously doing something for Jaskier too. Geralt can feel it, his cock filling slowly again, humping restlessly at Geralt’s thigh like he didn’t just get off.

_Greedy little whore._

Geralt pulls his fingers free. He takes Jaskier firmly by the hips and moves him, throws him out of his lap and onto the bed.

“Take those off,” he says as he stands up.

Jaskier shimmies out of his boxers as fast as he can, tossing them blindly away. He arches his back with a gasp at just the sight of Geralt climbing onto the bed. Geralt takes him by the hips again, holds him down, leans over him.

“Guess Daddy’s gotta clean up the rest of this mess,” he hums.

Jaskier falls apart on a moan when Geralt’s mouth meets his thighs.

Geralt gives him long draws of his tongue; fuck, he even tastes perfect, both his skin and his cum as they mingle in Geralt’s mouth. Jaskier claws at the sheets. He writhes and moans. Geralt’s mouth moves. He licks up every drop of cum he can find, lapping at his desperately hard cock. It’s _beautiful_ as it twitches, blushing hotly red, the head almost going purple, contrasted by the white bead of precum pearling in his slit.

Jaskier moans at how he gets manhandled, when Geralt flips him over, rolls him onto his front. Geralt controls him easily; he gets Jaskier’s knees under him, making his back arch down, putting his perfect ass on display.

“Come on, darling,” Geralt says lowly. “Spread yourself for Daddy.”

Jaskier whines into the mattress. He spreads his cheeks apart, putting a perfect pink hole on display. His golden rings and bracelets look amazing against his pale body.

Geralt grabs the lube.

He starts with his mouth, though.

He teases a feathery touch from Jaskier’s perineum all the way up over his hole. The boy shivers, knees sliding further apart.

“What do we say when we want something?”

 _“Please!”_ Jaskier says quickly. _“Please eat my pussy, Daddy!_ Please let me have your mouth, Daddy! _Please, please, please!”_

Geralt grins to himself. “Good boy.”

He dives into it, laving his tongue over that sweet hole, alternating soft brushes and harder presses and pointed teases into the quivering furl. He stays like that, stays only teasing, and listens to the music that flows from Jaskier’s sweet mouth.

He makes the prettiest, loveliest breathy sound when Geralt gives him the soft touch.

He lets out a perfect little whine at the hard presses. And God, he almost screams when Geralt’s tongue pushes inside him ever so slightly.

And _that_ is a song Geralt wants to keep listening to.

So he decides to let it keep playing.

Geralt thrusts his tongue into Jaskier, lapping into him, tasting his silky heat; he fucks this pretty boy open on his tongue.

Jaskier cries into the sheets, nails digging into his own cheeks as he tries to stay conscious. He shakes and shivers at every touch Geralt graces him with, and begs nonsensically for _more._

He _sobs_ when Geralt’s slicked fingers slide over his perineum, when they join his tongue and press into Jaskier’s body, when they scissor apart to spread his pretty rim.

Geralt easily finds Jaskier’s prostate; he slides his rough fingertips over it, touching it only very gently. Jaskier pants.

Geralt presses a little harder; Jaskier lets out the prettiest reedy cry.

He presses just a little harder again; Jaskier buries his face in the mattress and _screams._

Geralt lays a kiss on Jaskier’s stretched little rim. “C’mon, sweet thing, give us another one,” he says. “Give us one for Eskel, darling. Can you do that?”

Jaskier whines. “I-I-I c-can do it!” he cries. “I can do it! I can, Daddy, swear I can!”

He reaches his free hand between Jaskier’s thighs; he ghosts little touches along the man’s cock. Jaskier cries out again.

“Go on,” he says.

On command, Jaskier cums again, his whole body quivering and a broken moan leaving him, hole fluttering around Geralt’s fingers.

_Beautiful._

Jaskier’s body goes completely limp. He sags onto the mattress and pants for air. Geralt moves up his body, hovering over him, covering him almost completely. He strokes along Jaskier’s flank gently and presses soft kisses to his neck and shoulder.

“That’s my good boy,” he whispers. “You did so good, darling. Did so well for all of us.”

The boy moans, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Can you say thanks to Eskel, baby? You gotta thank Eskel for it, don’t you, darling?”

Jaskier nods. He licks his lips, still panting slightly. “Thank you, Eskel,” he says, so low it’s just barely a whisper. “Thanks, Eskel, thank you for this orgasm. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, dear,” Eskel tells him.

Jaskier makes a pleased little noise at being acknowledged so sweetly. Geralt kisses up his neck to his ear; he nips at Jaskier’s earlobe, drawing a little whine out of the boy.

“Now, darling, do you want to _finally_ get Daddy’s cock?” he whispers.

 _“Yes, Daddy,”_ he pleads.

Geralt smiles to himself. He keeps his mouth on Jaskier, keeps kissing at his smooth skin, sucking light hickeys onto him, while he undoes his slacks with one hand. He shoves his slacks and boxers down as far as he can. With what slick is left on his hand, he wets his cock.

Beneath him, Jaskier shuffles and moves. He gets himself comfortable on his front, legs spreading; one hand claws at the sheets, the other wraps around Geralt’s wrist, of the hand on which he leans to support himself above the boy.

 _“Daddy,”_ he whines. “Daddy, please, fill me up, give it to me

Geralt whispers sweet nothing to him as he sinks inside.

 _Fuck, it’s perfect, he’s perfect._ Burning hot and silky soft, swallowing Geralt up, he feels perfect, he just feels absolutely perfect when his body pulls Geralt deeper in. He wraps so tightly around Geralt’s cock despite how careful he had been in stretching him, getting him ready.

 _“Daddy-y,”_ Jaskier cries.

“That’s it, sweet thing,” Geralt grits out. “Takin’ Daddy’s cock so well.”

He bottoms out before he knows it, but he wishes he could keep going deeper, that he could just fucking disappear into the brilliant, welcoming heat that clutches his cock. Fuck, he can feel the sweat beading on his back, Jaskier’s warmth burning him up.

 _“Fuck me,”_ Jaskier begs. _“Wanna get it rough, Daddy.”_

And _that,_ makes Geralt fucking _growl._

“You want it _rough,_ baby?” he asks. “Sure you know what you’re asking for, darling? ‘Cause rough means _rough.”_

“Oh, _fuck,”_ Jaskier moans, at seemingly just that promise/threat. _“Yes!_ Yes, yes, yes, rough, want it rough!”

Geralt grits his teeth.

He stand up on his knees, dragging Jaskier with him, pulling him up on his knees too. He takes a tight hold of the boy’s slim little hips and gives it to him just like he asked for.

He fucks into Jaskier as hard as he can, as fast as he can; he drives into him with all his weight, pounding into him.

Jaskier sounds like he’s dying; he wails and gasps and groans, clawing at the sheets.

With every noise and every thrust, Jaskier’s prefect body clenches and flutters around Geralt’s cock, squeezing him tight as a vice. It’s going to milk it right out of him and he won’t be able to fucking stop it; Jaskier just feels too damn good. He just takes it so well. He can take anything and everything Geralt throws at him, and still moan for more.

His body swallows up Geralt’s cock and almost refuses to let it go, almost refuses to let him pull out even when he knows Geralt will only thrust right back into him.

Geralt never wants this to stop. He wishes he could last forever, just to keep feeling the sweet warmth of Jaskier wrapped around him.

“Cum for me, darling, one for me,” Geralt manages to bite out, his voice hitching with every thrust. “Last one, just for me.”

 _“Da-addy,”_ the boy whines under him.

Geralt leans over him, covering him with his own body, mouth on his shoulder again, rough thrusts turning into a slow rocking. “I know, baby, I know it’s hard, just one more, last one, then it’s done. Can you do that for Daddy? For me? Can you be a good boy for Daddy?”

Jaskier _sobs._ “Goo’ boy, ‘m a goo’ boy, _Da-addy…”_

“Yeah, you are, darling.”

Geralt reaches down under Jaskier, finds his cock; it’s barely half-hard now but it’s giving it a valiant effort, he’s no doubt pretty worn out by now.

Geralt strokes him gently, hoping it isn’t too rough for him, and rocks into him, working up to his own peak too

“That’s it, darling, let it come, just let it go.”

Jaskier doesn’t need much. Before long, he lets out another broken sob and Geralt feels the cum spill onto his fingers.

He isn’t far behind either; he’s been balancing on the edge of a knife since they walked into the bedroom. He only needs to let the floodgates fall open, and the tidal-wave breaks out.

It is, at the same time, like cresting a mountain and like being washed away by a raging current. He feels _overwhelmed._ He could swear he goes _blind_ for just a handful of seconds, vision whiting out with it.

He groans into Jaskier’s shivering shoulder, pumping into him, filling him with it. Jaskier’s sweet body seems to hug him tighter and tighter, even then.

“Thank you, Geralt,” Jaskier slurs out, like good boy he is.

And then everything goes rather still for a little while.

For a few moments, neither of them moves.

“C’mon, Geralt,” a low voice says, then. “Let’s get you both tucked in, eh?”

Geralt forces himself to look up and see what’s going on. Eskel and Lambert stand on either side of the bed, stripped down to their boxers. Lambert has a new, clean cover resting over one arm, and carries a pair of water bottles in the other. Eskel has a pair of power-bars and a few hand-towels. They both quickly set their things aside, though, to help.

Eskel grabs Geralt and keeps him steady, while Geralt finally pulls himself free of Jaskier’s body. Geralt thought he might have been weirded out by being undressed by his childhood best friend, but honestly, he’s too fucked out to care right now. He feels himself be wiped down, cleaned up, then finds himself being helped in under the fresh new covers. He is made to drink some water and gulp down at least half of a power bar; then _Eskel spoons him._

Only moments later, Jaskier slithers in under the covers too, freshly cleaned and fed, and curls up in Geralt’s arms. Lambert snuggles up behind him, then.

And it’s…rather nice, actually.

Geralt feels…a lot.

He feels a lot for Eskel (still mostly _friend_ things for now, since they’ve known each other for so long, it’s strange to imagine him as anything other than just a friend but Geralt's image of him seems to be changing, ever so slowly).

He feels a lot for Lambert (he still doesn’t know him very well, but they’re getting there and Geralt thinks he’ll really like getting _there,_ wherever _there_ is).

He feels a lot for Jaskier.

And honestly?

He might be feeling something real.


End file.
